


Notice Me

by SanoStar



Category: Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann
Genre: Depression, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanoStar/pseuds/SanoStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kittan contemplates his self-worth</p>
            </blockquote>





	Notice Me

He’d just realized he’d been trapped. Trapped in this new system that he didn’t want anything to do with anymore. A lot of his self-worth was determined by what he could do for others, how much of an impact he’d have in others lives. There didn’t seem to be any light left to touch others hearts, these days. Where had it gone? This change was so subtle over the past couple of years, he didn’t feel like himself. 

He had been laying in bed. A little too early to call it a night. He often lay in bed looking out the sliding glass window that looked out into a balcony. His apartment had been on the 125th floor of this giant building reserved to house those who were involved with the government activities. Of course the possibility to get a house was a thing you COULD do, but Kittan didn’t really see the point while Kiyoh and Dayakka had a place he could drop in anytime and he didn’t really have anyone to house with. They had offered to get a bigger house but Kittan reassured them that they shouldn’t worry so much about him, they had their own lives to deal with.

And boy didn’t they have their own lives, Kittan frowned. That was right. Everyone had their own thing, everyone had new people that were important to them. He knew he was loved but…it was clear that perhaps he had much more love to spare for them then they had for him. He was fine with that, he tried to convince himself. Love was good to have. Love was good to give. He just….wished there was some love available to recieve.

He ran a couple of fingers along his neck, slowly from his collar bone to his lips. He’d had a couple of flings in the city, none that stayed, none that were worth mentioning. He’d realize he really wasn’t into that kind of thing. He was someone who wanted to get so attached to someone else, to be loyal, to always be there for someone. That’s what made love love, right? To stick around and help others through the thick and thin, to respect and admire and just….being there.

He sat up and grabbed a pack of smokes and lighter from a drawer in his nightstand. He lit one up and took the first initial inhale. He never told anyone he smoked. It was rare that he ever did, hell he swore he’d quit but he was a weak, impulsive man. He stood up and opened up the sliding glass door, delighted that there was a rather impressive wind tonight.

The wind was cold and chilling, but not too strong. It made his t-shirt dance around his skin and he was afraid it would put out his smoke. He let out a puff of smoke to the wind outside and it twirled and played until it dissipated into the street lights. He stepped outside and his bare feet welcomed the ice cold of the iron bearing. He looked out at the world. The lost world. The labyrinth of towering buildings and blinding lights, the trap of alleys and corrupt brokers. The kids that had no place to go but the trashcans and those who tried to escape life of the city and didn’t make it very far.

 

Was this really the sort of life that Kamina wanted our future generations to grow up into? Kittan told himself over and over again how lucky Kamina was, to be reveled as a hero because he had died at the right time. What the hell were they doing? Just copying the way the beastmen had been ruling the Earth? The only difference is they didn’t have a king. But with the way things were now, it was much more confusing to whose orders were changing and dictating the lives of the people.

Kittan sighed as smoke slowly creeped out of his mouth. He had finished his cig, so he dropped it on the iron bearing and crushed it with his bare heel. It stung a bit.

He couldn’t stop being reminded that the wind was there to comfort him. So cold, but it was there with him. It was a kind of a rush he didn’t really didn’t think much about before. He gripped the railing of the patio and looked below him. So many cars, zipping by. A couple of government vehicles zipped in the air with their ability to hover. 

He tightened his grip on the railing and his breathing suddenly got ragged. Despite the cold wind, he started to sweat. His focus on the ground below him was becoming painful. He wasn’t thinking, all he was thinking about is how the wind was reassuring him. He pushed himself up and put a leg over the railing, and then the other, so that he was now gripping the railing behind him and his feet were carefully supporting him on the amount of iron that was on this side of the railing.

He leaned forward, arms stretching to keep their grip, the wind was stronger here. He imagined if he were to fall. That would clearly kill him. But the thought didn’t…necessarily bother him too much. He almost panicked into realizing that his reaction wasn’t normal, but the wind became strong and chilled his nerves.

 

The images rolled through his mind. First he would let go. Next he’d be falling. The images of the city scrolling through as the wind would became wild trying to lift him up. Next would be the lights. And then he’d be lying on the ground. Sleeping. 

The only thing that really creeped him out about this scenerio was that he’d be easily regconizable, that his image would be tainted with blood. He relaxed and rose himself back over the other side of the railing. He needed to change that image.

He closed the sliding glass window behind him and he was greeted by the stale warmth of the apartment. It smelled faintly like cigarettes and wet socks. He dragged himself to the bathrooom, turned on the light, and closed the door behind him. The roar of the bathrooms fan reminded him of the wind, how it just isolated his mind. He picked up the haircutting scissors he only used on occassion when his hair would start to grow a little out of hand. He looked at himself in the mirror and contemplated whether it was a better idea to use the buzzcutter.

And just like when a pin drops or someone says a familar name that dredges up memories you’d much rather forget, Kittan’s demeanor went a full 180. He clenched his teeth and slammed his fist into the wall next to the mirror, piercing the wall with the scissors. He reluctantly relaxes his fist and lets go, leaving it to hang there as his bathrooms new decoration. His teeth grind as he stares into the drain of the sink, clenching the porceline sides, similar to looking down at the streets of the city while holding onto the rails. 

He didn’t have a grip. He didn’t have control of anything. He didn’t have anything to look forward to, and he sure as hell wasn’t doing anything. He clenched his eyes closed, brows painfully sculpting creases between his eyes. He choked and tears started to fall in the sink. He couldn’t let go of the side of the sink, afraid that he’d actually start falling. The room around him spun in circles, isolating himself in his own little world. He just kept choking and tried to breath, harder now since he had just previously had a smoke. He was drowning, spinning down the drain, just like being flushed out of the world. It just only now occured to him that he was afraid to disappear while no one noticed.

He glanced up at himself in the mirror and never saw anything so repulsive. The previous series of events outside caught up to him. Disgusting. Why would he….why would HE…Wasn’t he stronger than that? Apparently not. Apparently he couldn’t deal with anyone like everyone else, why did he pity himself? He wasn’t worthy of his own pity. He hated himself. 

He sharply inhaled and held his breath, shuddering, looking at his reflection and becoming angry. He punched the mirror and shattered it, his fist being the epicenter where the most cracks appeared, and then it thined out to bigger crakcs like a spiral. Some shards pierced the flats of his knuckles, but it made Kittan feel a little better. He wasn’t clenching the sink anymore. The room stopped spinning. His hands relaxed, while occasionally flexing when his body was attacked by shudders when he carefully tried to breath normally. 

He took off his shirt and turned on the shower. His boxers shed to the floor and he turned the water’s heat gradually to scalding hot and let it sting his back. Blood from his knuckles ran down his legs and swirled its way into the drain. He was grateful that was all the blood that was shed today.


End file.
